


Hypocritical

by purplekitte



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Cuddling, Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Multi, Old fics just dug up, Unrequited Love, Why did I write a pairing that's not even my thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Back so soon?” Ianto asked, he and Gwen lowering guns away from the broken Hub door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypocritical

Jack knew that hypocritical self-righteous outrage well enough. No fighting, no carrying guns, no killing—unless he had had to and felt sufficiently bad about it or he loved you back enough to forgive you anything. No Vortex Manipulator for you, Jacky-boy.

He felt sorrier for the others than for himself, for Sarah Jane who had known a different Doctor, who didn’t look at people like they were wrong. The mad scientist had said himself that the difference between them and the Daleks was that they, the Children of Time, were doing it for love. And love, particularly unrequited, obsessive, festering love, could make people do terrible things, but love it was all the same.

“Back so soon?” Ianto asked, he and Gwen lowering guns away from the broken Hub door. The floor was still covered in debris, though it showed signs of bits of Dalek being collected and catalogued.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Jack answered seriously, even though he could have travelled with the Doctor for years and been back in five minutes for all they knew. “Come here.” He opened his arms as he approached them.

It didn’t take any more nudging for them to set down their guns and close the distance so he could hug them at the same time. They smelled like smoke and dried sweat. He should be leading Torchwood up to the streets of Cardiff, but they were alien fighters, not official city officials. He should be sending Gwen home to Rhys, but he lead the two of them tucked under his arms and pressed against his body to a couch in one of their rarely used break rooms.

Jack settled them as close to himself as physically possible and tucked their heads against his neck even though he kept bending to press kisses to Ianto and Gwen’s hair, cheeks, mouths.

“I guess we didn’t die today.”

“Yeah.”

“I did,” Jack offered.

“You don’t count.”


End file.
